Hermione He

Living With Uncertainty

As an international student, an immigrant, and a young professional fresh out of college, I have learned that stability is sometimes a privilege you simply don't have—at least not yet.

I used to think uncertainty was something to solve. If I worked hard enough, planned carefully enough, and made the right decisions, I could keep my life on track.

Then, last summer, several things went wrong at once.

For a while, life had felt relatively calm. Then, almost without warning, a crack appeared. And once it did, more bad news seemed to flood in before I had even figured out how to process the first one.

I lost an important client. My promotion was put on hold. I went through a breakup. And then my company told me they would no longer sponsor my visa.

All of those decisions were made by other people. They happened within two weeks.

For the first time in a long time, I felt completely passive. There was nothing I could do to force any of these outcomes to change. I tried anyway. I swallowed my pride. I asked people to reconsider. I tried to fix things that were no longer entirely in my hands.

Nothing changed.

I'm not telling this story because I want to complain about how unfair life was to me. Looking back, one thing I am proud of is that I never completely gave up.

But I did become tired.

People told me, "If you really want to stay in this country, there are always other ways."

I knew that. I knew I could look for another company. I knew there were other visa options. I knew there were things I could try.

I was just exhausted by the idea of having to fight for one more thing.

So I rested.

Not because I had solved anything, but because I had already done what I could. I had submitted hundreds of résumés looking for a company willing to sponsor me. I had tried to repair a relationship that had fallen apart. I had exhausted the things that were within my control.

And eventually, I had to accept that the decisions were no longer mine to make.

That was when I learned what surrender actually meant.

It sounds peaceful when you say it out loud. In reality, letting go is incredibly difficult.

So instead of spending every waking moment trying to fix what I couldn't control, I started moving.

I took my driving test and finally got my driver's license.

I pushed myself to run my first half marathon.

I decided to become an entrepreneur and pitched my idea in a major competition.

I went to more events. I met new people. I started saying yes to things I would have ignored before.

The side projects and activities didn't magically make me happy. When I was running, working late at night, or standing at a party surrounded by people, my mind could still be somewhere else entirely. The problems were still there. The anxiety didn't disappear just because I was busy.

But something was changing.

I don't remember exactly when it happened.

Maybe healing doesn't always announce itself.

Maybe it happens quietly, somewhere between one ordinary day and the next.

I began to feel a little better. I still thought about the things I needed to solve, but they occupied less space in my mind. I could look at them more objectively.

I started doing things I hadn't cared about before. I lost some weight. I had more reasons to get dressed up, put on makeup, and go somewhere. I became more social. I became more willing to meet people with an open and humble mind.

And then I made one decision that probably looked irrational to other people.

I bought a car.

At the time, I wasn't even sure I would still be living in the United States a year later.

And yet, that was exactly when I wanted one the most.

I had never enjoyed driving. In fact, I had been afraid of it.

But I had never wanted a change so strongly.

I just wanted it.

I wanted to own that decision.

I needed it.

And somewhere inside me, I believed I deserved it.

Looking back, I think those "abnormal" decisions were actually signs that something inside me had changed.

I wasn't waiting for my life to become certain before I started living it.

One of those moments came through a pitch competition I participated in. I didn't expect to win the final competition. What I really wanted was to be selected for a tour of Walmart's headquarters.

The night after my pitch, I went home and replayed everything in my head. I wasn't satisfied with my speech. I knew there were things I could have done better.

But eventually, I told myself, "It's okay. You did what you could."

The next day, I saw my startup's name on the list of companies selected for the tour.

I was thrilled.

But the bigger surprise came later.

Because of circumstances beyond my control, my company had initially told me they could no longer sponsor my visa. That decision had hit me harder than anything else. It broke my sense of trust and made me question not only my future but, at times, my own capabilities and the meaning I had attached to building a life here.

But by then, something had changed.

While I was slowly putting myself back together, I had already started letting go of the idea that I absolutely had to stay in the United States.

I started looking at opportunities in other countries.

I continued doing my work. I continued showing up.

And I started planning a life beyond the outcome I had been desperately trying to secure.

I was excited about going home to see my family. I was imagining myself as the MC at my cousin's wedding. I was thinking about things that had nothing to do with visas, sponsorships, or career achievements.

For the first time in months, I was simply looking forward to life.

I had almost forgotten about the visa situation.

And I stopped trying to negotiate with my company.

Then, two days before my flight home, my director came to me.

"Hey, we really want you to stay at the company. We will sponsor you."

I still remember how strange that moment felt.

The thing I had spent months desperately trying to hold onto came back to me only after I had finally loosened my grip.

Maybe that is what uncertainty has taught me.

We spend so much of our lives trying to control the timing, the outcome, the people around us, and the version of our future we think we're supposed to have.

But sometimes, we can only control whether we keep moving.

Do what you can. Ask for what you need. Fight for what matters to you.

And when you've done everything within your control, allow yourself to rest.

Not because you are giving up.

Because you are making room for something else.

I don't know if my life will become more stable from here. There will probably be another unexpected turn, another decision made by someone else, another moment when I have no idea what comes next.

But I no longer see uncertainty as something that means my life is falling apart.

Maybe uncertainty is simply the space between the life we thought we would have and the life we haven't imagined yet.

And maybe we don't need to know exactly where we're going to keep moving forward.

Sometimes, all we need to do is take the next step—and let the light find its way through the cracks.